


A Question of Comfort

by Empy (Empyreus)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Bars and Pubs, Biting, Bruises, Community: slashyvalentine, Drinking, Intoxication, M/M, Making Out, Minor Injuries, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-14
Updated: 2004-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3143381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empyreus/pseuds/Empy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The countertop was vicious, stabbing into David's back, and the wooden floor under his bare feet was warm like skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Question of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azewewish (Brenda)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/gifts).



> Written for [](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/profile)[azewewish](http://azewewish.livejournal.com/), as a pickup fic for the [](http://slashyvalentine.livejournal.com/profile)[slashyvalentine](http://slashyvalentine.livejournal.com/) challenge.
> 
> Thanks to [](http://littlemimm.livejournal.com/profile)[**littlemimm**](http://littlemimm.livejournal.com/) for the speedy beta.

When David closed his eyes, he saw red. Not the cyan of the flickering bar sign or the deep carmine of the padded booths, only true crimson.

And he itched. It wasn't a surface itch, not one a vigorous scuff with bare nails would cure. No, this was a deep-set itch, a tickle somewhere past the heart and above the groin. A tingle in the half-bruise that ran along his lower stomach, the mark left by the sharp edge of the kitchen counter.

Every smile Billy gave showed off the bitemarks on his lower lip, the dark-red little indentations David knew he had left. The smiles were smug as much as they were open, and the marks were flesh-embedded code that David could read and understand but that was hidden to the others.

_Like a subtle reminder of the night before._

As they had returned from bar-crawling, David had given in to the first slight stirrings of intoxication that wrapped around his brain and told Billy he wouldn't drive back on his own. Billy had laughed at the comment, saying that David practically lived in the house already.

The air was thick to breathe, like syrup, slow and thick, tinged with something to jar the senses. Strange how a room that was familiar to him could be so alien now, so against him with every hard table-corner he stabbed his hip on. No time to walk backwards through the house now, and neither need nor desire to. The counter would do well, and the chair next to it could be kicked at and toppled over if any further disarray was needed.

Strange how the light behind his closed eyelids still was red, even though they were bathed in shadow and dark anonymity.

David's knees bent and his legs splayed as he pushed his hips back. Billy's hands traced up David's sides, taking in long reaches of warm skin.

"Not here," David protested, levelling his voice. Billy shifted, leaning a little further back, until he was face to face with David. A light sheen of sweat dappled the high forehead, making a wayward not-quite-curl stick to the skin. Billy reached up to stroke it away, but David grasped his wrist to press a kiss to the delicate skin, the tip of his tongue tracing over the veins faintly visible under the thin skin.

"Why not?" Billy purred, a flickerflame in the green-flint eyes, and David had to swallow thickly. Leaning in, capturing David's full lower lip in his teeth, he traced his tongue along David's mouth.

"Because it's uncomfortable," he said, the words a lazy rush of breath. He tilted his head back, letting Billy press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, and gave a little laugh as Billy slid his hand down the curve of David's hipbone, his long fingers moulding over the curve further down.

Billy's grip tightened, and David rose up on his toes by reflex. He was painfully hard, and every touch Billy lavished on him made him more aroused. "If you want to have any fun, you'd better stop now," he said, wondering over the fact that he could keep his voice level.

"That's just daft," Billy countered. "You're entirely too hooked on comfort."

Billy pushed David's hands back, forcing David to lean on them, commanding: "Don't move." But David had to move, had to push his hips forward for more of the devilish friction. His fingernails caught in the ridges between the tiles of the countertop, his thumbnail making a little screeching noise as it scored the tile.

David decided he had to stop thinking 'small' when he saw the Hobbits, because there was nothing small or frail about Billy, nothing even remotely suggestive of any sort of weakness in the hard grip or in the strong-jointed fingers that picked clean a path through David's clothing, tackling buttons and zippers with the sort of dexterity that only came with experience and a certain amount of inebriation.

He had to stop thinking altogether, because thinking threw him off track, off the wide-trodden track he should be walking. Running. Stumbling. Whatever came first. The countertop was vicious, stabbing into his back, and the wooden floor under his bare feet was warm like skin. He blinked as he heard a muted metallic rustle, and then grinned as he saw the foil packet Billy was holding. Quite unmistakeable.

"Carried that around? You're a hopeful bugg--" The rest transmuted into a hitching inhalation as the last letter caught in his throat. Billy's hands, his slick fingers, trailing and stroking and spreading his legs, were slowly and systematically picking apart any slivers of resistance David might have harboured.

"Scout's credo. Always prepared," Billy commented, off-hand and off-kilter as he planted a bite on David's shoulder. "And a Scot's honour to see to that the job is well done."

Billy's touch was deft, and above all insistent. Impatient. David leaned his head back, swallowing harshly, a moan catching between his clenched teeth. It was too difficult to cant his head back down and catch Billy's green gaze, and almost too difficult to simply remain standing. He widened his stance, and actually cursed out loud when the fingers inside him slid deeper. Too deep, insidiously deep, and whatever Billy said became a hops-scented croon of Scottish syllables that David was far too confused to make sense of.

His mind grasped haphazardly at concepts, working far more sluggishly than it should. "I should turn," he murmured. "Easier for you, isn't it?"

"Don't matter," Billy assured him, but shifted obediently to let David move, his slick fingers drawing along David's side and back. His thumbs briefly dipped into the dimples at the base of David's spine before continuing downward, and David relaxed into the touch. He couldn't hold back the softly sighed curse this time either, but it had all become part of the act, because Billy answered, as always, with a little snort of laughter.

Gorgeous bliss, David thought, simple heat inside of him. Billy's chest was warm against his bare back, and he could feel the first beginnings of stubble on Billy's chin rasp against his shoulder and neck. If he lifted his head, looked a little higher up, he might be able to catch a glimpse of his own reflection in the glass doors of the cupboards.

 _If you could see yourself now._ The reflection would be nodding, or not nodding but simply moving to counter each leisurely thrust.

Blessed sword-calluses on Billy's hands, he thought, blessed little fraction of friction that tipped him over the edge. He gave an involuntary gasp at the feel of the cold-slick tile against his bare chest as he slumped forward, and the gasp was swiftly followed by a curse as David felt Billy's weight settle over his back.

"Get off me," he said, rather reluctantly, wide smile surely audible in his voice. "This really is uncomfortable."

"Softie," Billy countered, but straightened up all the same.

The short walk through the house to the bedroom was slow and shuffling, and David absentmindedly drew his fingers over his stomach. The countertop had left a long red mark, but it wasn't sore. When he looked sideways at Billy, he noticed the other man was touching the tips of his fingers to his lips.

"I bit my lip," Billy said, but looked content more than irritated. "I'm blaming you."

_Consider it something to remember this by._

David sat back in the booth, watching Dominic and Billy mock fence with the pool cues for a few seconds and then break apart laughing.

As he returned to the table, nodding at Karl by way of greeting, Billy intended to take his seat, but wouldn't wait for David to rise and instead squeezed himself between David and the table. David hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Billy's jeans as Billy was pinned between the table and David.

"Comfortable?" he asked, squinting upward at Billy.

Billy's gaze flickered for a second, then deepened with alarming speed. David let go, brushing his fingers down along Billy's thighs.

"Right now? Quite," Billy said simply. He looked over his shoulder at Karl, then turned back and gave a conspiratory little grin. "I told you, you're too hooked on comfort."


End file.
